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Eugenia fixed the large handkerchief over her mouth and nose for the second time that day, carefully checking that there were no gaps at the edges. She confirmed that the jar of appropriately diluted solution of hydrogen peroxide—bleach—that she had prepared earlier, was in easy reach, and that the campfire she had just fed was still burning brightly. Eugenia had been carrying a small bottle of concentrated hydrogen peroxide throughout her journey—even though she normally preferred her fungi alive, you never knew when an antifungal agent would come in handy.
Then she took out the sturdy leather sack she had secreted away from the Ushers' house. Eugenia suddenly felt a little sick, the feeling mixed with burning shame. This was a betrayal of the people who were trusting in her expert opinion in a dangerous situation. But the scientist in her had not been able to help herself—if they succeeded in killing the larger fungus in the tarn, having at least some scientific record of this extraordinary specimen would surely prove valuable.
But that was not the whole truth. What had driven her to steal the moving head of the infected rabbit had not been noble scientific curiosity alone—it had also been pride and the urge to prove herself. With a scientific description of this unique fungus, the Mycological Society would never snub her again.
Eugenia untied the string of the sack with shaking hands and pointlessly looked around at the dark forest that dawn had not yet reached. Angus had gone off hunting. He would not be back for a while yet, and there was no-one else around.
Finally, the leather fell away to reveal the rabbit's head. Even in the firelight, Eugenia could still see a faint green glow in the eyes, which promptly began to roll. She recoiled briefly, but then forced herself to lean in and flip the head over with the metal tongs she had taken from the Ushers' kitchen to examine the bloody wound where the top of the spinal column still protruded from the skull. The slimy red material of the fungus seemed to have replaced the spinal cord entirely. The flickering flames of the campfire reflected on its surface, making it look like it moved.
Eugenia grabbed her sketchbook and hastily began drawing. When she next looked up, she was sure: It was not the firelight; the red fungal matter was writhing and growing. What was she doing here, potentially allowing the fungus to spread in this forest away from the tarn? She grabbed the skull with the tongs and threw it into the fire. The green light in its eyes flared once, then died, as the grisly object turned black.